


The Life and Death of Lawrence J. Beetleman

by Wizardchester91



Category: Beetlejuice (TV 1989), Beetlejuice - All Media Types
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Canonical Character Death, Death, Gen, Murder-Suicide, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-20
Updated: 2019-08-28
Packaged: 2020-09-18 23:42:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,784
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20321464
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wizardchester91/pseuds/Wizardchester91
Summary: In the 1820's, a Side-show performer and stage musician has a string of bad luck. In the Afterlife, sometimes the echoes of the living still linger.Musical-verse and TV-Verse heavily influenced.





	1. Before

It wasn't supposed to happen like this. Nothing was supposed to happen the way that it did. And the only part of all that didn't make him miserable, that didn't leave him in a crumbling self destructive pit of self loathing, was _**her. **_

She was curled up on her bed, a soft lazy smile on her face. Some horror film played on the television, a delicious background of shrieks filling the room. A cheesy looking monster ambled its way onto the screen, and she chuckled. "The sandworms back in the Neitherworld are way scarier, huh, BJ?" 

He nodded vehemently. "Just the thought has me Shaking in My Boots!" There was a *pop* and Beetlejuice turned into a quivering pair of very large, and very stinky, boots, his yellow eyes glowing softly from within them. 

She dissolved into laughter again and he returned to normal form with another *pop*. 

He would do anything to always hear her laugh. To always be the reason she laughed. 

"Hey...Beetlejuice?" Her voice was softer...hesitant. 

"Uh, Yeah Lyds?" 

"How did you die?" 

He sputtered. No one ever asked about _before._ "well...you met my folks...I've always been the Ghost with The Most." 

She shook her head. "I don't think that's true though. You told the Maitlands you were dead." 

"Eeeehhh..Figure of Speech?" He hedged. 

She frowned, closing her big brown eyes and making his heart clench. Literally, a large bulge appeared in his chest."fine. Fine I'll tell ya. But you're the only one who I've ever told. Not even the green dame at the waiting room knows." 


	2. From top of the world to....

"**Step right up! Ladies and gentlemen**!" His voice echoed across the town square, as he hopped up onto his podium. "**PREPARE TO BE AMAZED BY THE AMAZING BEETLEMAN**!"

He grinned and winked at a lady passing by. "How do ya do ma'am? Care fer a show?" He flicked his wrist, triggering the trick. With a slide-whistle sound effect, his pants were suddenly around his ankles. "Whoops. Not that one." He chuckled. The lady blushed and giggled, joining the crowd. Hehe, got em. 

"There's a sucker born every minute." He sneered, nudging his young stage hand with an elbow. "And some o these dames were born to suck, ya know what I mean!?" He snorted. The stage hand shook his head, looking at him with a mix of disgust and horror.

He turned back to the crowd, amazing them with a mix of sleight-of hand, parlor tricks, and various other illusions and stage magics. When the show finished he took a deep bow, his hat conveniently falling onto the donation table, drawing attention to where to pay. 

Sure, the money was great, but this was the part he loved. Watching everyone laugh, shriek in horror, and gasp in amazement. Hearing them cheer and adore him- even if it was mostly a con. They loved him. For a moment they loved him. In the bleak world of 1800's england, he wasn't invisible.

At the end of the day he was several pounds richer. He made his way to the tiny upstairs apartment and sighed....His Gal deserved better. And he felt like a lousy deadbeat for not being able to give it to her.

"Whew. I'm beat, Lyzzie."

Silence.

"Uhh. Elizabeth?"

There was a gasp, a moan, a thud from the bedroom. Lawrence's blood ran cold. No...it couldn't be...

He made his way to the bedroom and slammed the door open, reeling backwards in pain and fury. There was a man, naked, lying on the floor, and his wife....his beautiful wife....

"_Lizzie_? I swear to god I'll kill him myself. I'll beat his brains in!" Tears and fury filled his eyes and he flung his wife aside, not hearing her yell or seeing her crash into the nightstand, not seeing the bruise bloom across her cheek, just seeing the blood under his fists, hearing the man's nose break, his eye pop.

"LARRY YOU'RE ACTUALLY GONNA KILL HIM!" His wife shrieked, desperately tugging on his shoulders.

He spun, his wide body suddenly large and intimidating. He had never hit a woman, and swore he never would, but he was so..._hurt_. 

"_How could ya_, babes? How could ya do this to me? We was gonna get a place together, and I was gonna make it big time..."

She scoffed. "You've been sayin that fer years Lawrence! You're just a two bit con act and I...I need _OUT_. When's the last time ya took me into town? Bought me sumthin pretty??" 

Her words were like an assault of needles, and he felt like he was choking. 

"I.....Babes....I..." He stammered, slumping to his knees. "Yer all I got. Yer all I do this for." 

She walked past him, shrieking as her partner choked and gurgled on blood, scrabbling at the wood floor before lying still. "You killed him! You rat bastard! You killed him!" Panicked, he clapped a hand over her mouth, sobbing in desperation. "Shh...don't bring the cops. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry babes. I forgive you. I love you so much and I forgive you." He didn't register when she stopped struggling. He thought she was just asleep. He laid her gently in the bed, kissed her brow, and dragged himself to the booze.

Two bottles of whiskey later and his mind was walking a dangerous path.

"You've got nuthin an no one."

"I still got the gig..."

"You've got a shitty side show act that's losing money."

"I..."

"You're gonna hang fer this. Cold murder."

He belched loudly and took another swig of whiskey.

"Might as well get it over with."

"But how? Slit my wrists?" He eyed his straight razor. "Too dramatic. Poison?" His gaze wobbled to the cabinet. "Too painful. Jump? Nah...scared of heights. Plus if I survive..." The thought of paralysis was not inviting. "I'm gonna hang anyway. Might as well beat em too it."

In a drunken stuper he gathered what he needed, and stumbled to the bridge. A note, hastily scrawled in his horrible handwriting, was held in place by a glass paperweight she had once bought him. 

"_Sorry fer whoever finds me. I am invzibul. She left. She wuz all I had. Gudbye_."

Tearfully, he eyed the icy water below. He tied the knot, slipped the noose around his neck, and...fell.

....for what felt like ages he was freefalling, and then with a snap he was yanked up, and the rope tightened around his neck. He gasped, hands clawing at his neck, sudden panic and desperation running through him. The rope swung again and he heaved, his pants becoming wet as he pissed himself in fear. There was a snap and he was falling again, plunging backward into the Icy water, the cold seeping down to his skin, and had the rope grown TIGHTER? He opened his mouth to scream but bloody vomit came out instead, swirling around his hands and feet as he tried desperately to kick, to save himself, his vision blurring around the edges. He gurgled again, before everything went dark.


	3. Bath

Beetlejuice stared at the tub, his breathing- if he could breathe, anyway, shallow.

"Lyds! C'mon! This is TORTURE!" He complained, a menacing black hood appearing over his eyes, with a *pop*.

Lydia frowned and tapped her foot, glaring at him. "My family wants to meet my um...Gentleman company...and you are going to look, and smell, presentable!"

"But I HATE BATHS!" He sobbed hysterically, his arm stretching to impossible lengths as Lydia groaned and tugged on his hand, trying to drag him to the tub.

"It's...." She panted, now planting her feet on the wall as she tried to pry him out of the doorway he had lodged himself into. "Not..." She was now heaving against his back as he dug his fingers and toes into the doorframe like a very large, ugly cat. "That..." She was now trying to pry his fingers from the doorway, as he tried to bend in impossible ways to avoid her. "BAD!" She huffed, finally giving up and grabbing him sharply by the ear, causing him to immediately go limp and follow her. "Ow, ow, ow, jeeze babes!" He whined.

"Come on! Don't be such a-" she stopped herself, remembering what happened last time the spirit had taken a baby pun literally.

Finally dragged into the tub, he tried to hide the sheer TERROR coursing through his body. "Lyds please...I can just juice up some perfume or sumthin.." He begged, his voice cracking, squishing himself as far away from the water as he could as the girl turned on the faucet.

"BJ...are you ok?" She asked softly.

He took a deep breath, trying to steady himself. "I'm fine, babes. Cool as a...hhhhnnnggg..." He made a noise as she tried to pull his tie and jacket off, and he snapped his fingers, his clothes vanishing aside from a rather skimpy pair of underwear. Lydia giggled and looked away, blushing, as he covered himself and akwardly waddled towards the tub. He really had no other options now.

He dipped a foot in, cringed, grimaced, gagged, then finally sagged, defeated, into the soapy water, glaring at the girl as she began scrubbing.

"Ok. I'm ok. I can do this. It's just soapy water. Not even cold. I can..."

Lydia splashed water over his head and his mind went blank. He froze, unable to move, lost in the memory of his death. That aweful, cold water. The rope around his throat, choking him and making him feel hopelessly trapped. The horrible pressure of the water and the dizzying sensation as he sank, down, down, down. The thud of rocks and mud against his back, as his vision blurred. The helplessness as he gave up flailing and gave one last gurgled cry. Manifesting on the banks of that horrible river and watching the coroner pull him from his watery grave.

"Beetlejuice! Speak to me!"

"Oui, Be-atle- jus, are ju among ze living- er, ze dead?"

He rolled over- or tried to- and groaned. He was bound, ginger perched anxiously on his chest. Lydia was crying. "Whu...whu..." He croaked.

"You...you had a fit...I..oh Beetlejuice, I didn't know what to do..."

He struggled against the spiderwebs, wiggling an arm loose. "Babes...I'm...I'm alright.. I just..."

She ran up to him, wrapping her arms around his neck. "Oh Bee-"

"Easy Lyds. Don't want to explain this to your parents."

" 'E was lost in ze before." The skeleton said gently, placing a bony hand on her back. "To think of Be-afore is death to a spirit."

Lydia nodded into her best friends chest. "I'm so sorry."


End file.
